


A Memory

by comawhite



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, KaneTsuki - Freeform, M/M, Mild Blood, NON-EXPLICIT BUT JUST EXPLICIT ENOUGH, Non-Explicit Sex, Oneshot, Shironeki | White-haired Kaneki, Shower Sex, an adventure in the tsukiyama manor, but not really, can u tell i like kaneki's muscles, during the timeskip between TG and RE, if that makes sense, they have...[drumroll], tsukikane - Freeform, where everything is expensive and everything hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:39:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3942247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comawhite/pseuds/comawhite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukiyama Shuu wanted to stop Kaneki from leaving, but he couldn't. That is the price he paid for loving someone stronger than him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Memory

**Author's Note:**

> I write a lot, but I've never written fanfic before. Naturally, my first is about these two.

On a good day, Tsukiyama Shuu can hardly bear to look anyone in the eye. On a bad day, he can't stand his own reflection in a glass of blood wine. A ghost of his former self though he may be, Tsukiyama still has just enough strength to smash quite a few glasses, leaving the wallpaper looking like a hand-painted, saffron-colored damask crime scene. Lacking the energy or drive to do much else, Tsukiyama spends a great deal of his time refurbishing the family manor -- or rather, sending Kanae on missions across Japan to commission the new furniture and fixings. He has changed the living room and guest room at least six times, despite the fact that he rarely visits either. The only room which hasn't changed is his own 239 square-foot bedroom, where he imbibes flagrant amounts of alcohol, eats the occasional human corpse, and re-reads the same books until he eventually falls asleep.  
  
Tsukiyama is well aware of how pathetic he has become. He had been comatose for quite some time, and he nearly died on the roof where he wept his last desperate plea ( _would you please not go?_ ) to the boy who left this void in his chest. If not for the efforts of the most cunning little mouse he knows, that strange human by the name of Hori Chie, Tsukiyama surely would not be here…Though maybe he resents her a bit for saving him. Maybe would rather have been left to rot.  
  
Staring up at the transluscent canopy over his bed, Tsukiyama curses himself. Such a large bed, for one withering husk of a ghoul! This plush circle of silks and satin and goose feather pillows, immense enough to make Tsukiyama feel as if he is stranded on an island of his own. So much empty space where the imprint of another body should be. _Pathétique, pathétique, pathétique._  
  
One of the worst parts of the house is the family portrait room, which Tsukiyama avoids all costs. He feels ill just thinking about the painted visages of his ancestors staring down at him, eyes gleaming with the self-assured sense of entitlement he once had. In some ways, Shuu's resemblance to these previous Tsukiyamas is fading, as if his own body has declared itself a disgrace. His hair, formerly the deep violet trademark of the Tsukiyama family, has faded to a light blue over the years. Has it really been two years now? He wonders. Yes, two years. Two years since the shower in the master bedroom became the worst part of the manor, even worse than the portrait room.  
  
\---  
  
It was during that blissful, blood-streaked six months spent with his snow-white prince that Tsukiyama's shower was tainted with memory -- the most beautiful memory, yes, but the most painful as well. It was a quiet night, once the screams in the ghoul restaurant ceased. Watching his violent love crush those influential ghouls like so many flies made something stir in the pit of Tsukiyama's belly; he'd be lying if he said that the sight of his ferocious son premier amour spattered red didn't turn him on. Once Banjou and his band of gas masked brutes retired for the night in the place that Tsukiyama rented for the group, he and Kaneki quietly slipped into the night. The moon above the 20th ward was the color of Kaneki's hair and the shape of Shuu's mask. He smiled to himself all the way to the Tsukiyama manor.  
  
Kaneki seemed to have forgotten the blood that had splattered onto his face, his clothing, and on the ends of his hair by the time they arrived at the manor. Tsukiyama watched from his seat in his favorite armchair, an antique leather Victorian. Kaneki paced the room, looking both distant and resplendent under the dim light of the chandelier, back muscles outlined in chiaroscuro like a Caravaggio painting. His cheeks had hollowed out a bit since he was a black-haired waiter at Anteiku, Tsukiyama noticed.  
  
Shuu loosened the straps on his monk loafers and deposited them on the ground -- a little too loudly. Kaneki immediately started at the sound, whipping around to face Tsukiyama with wide eyes and tensed shoulders. Back then, it took only the smallest of missteps to flip the switch in Kaneki's head that turned him into a cornered animal, tightly coiled and ready to spring. He could practically hear Kaneki’s heart pounding.  
  
" _Calmato_ , my dove," Tsukiyama purred, supporting his own sculpted cheek in his slender hands as he gazed at Kaneki. "It's nothing. You are too stressed. You keep on putting all of this pressure on yourself and it'll be the death of you, you know."  
  
Oh, if only he knew.  
  
Kaneki sighed. With the delicate silence of a shadow slinking across the wall, he crossed the threshold of the room to where Tsukiyama sat. "I'll be fine," he replied, flashing a wan smile. He moved in to straddle Tsukiyama's legs, one leg bent and resting on the leather cushion by the gourmet ghoul's thigh. "Don't worry."  
  
Tsukiyama smiled up at the half-ghoul, whose eyes were like chips of a glassy sky right after a fragrant rain, gray and soft. "Just let me be your knight, the way I promised. Let me take care of you, and I won't worry."  
  
He pulled Kaneki in by the hips, sliding him onto his lap. Kaneki wrapped his arms around Tsukiyama, who pressed his fingertips into the exposed skin of the half-ghoul's back. One hand wandered upwards, first brushing over the toned abdomen that rippled under the slick battlesuit, next cupping his chin, and finally making its way to Kaneki's lips, which Tsukiyama caressed with his thumb. The corners of Kaneki's mouth turned up a bit as he grabbed Tsukiyama's curious hand, which he pressed to his cheek.  
  
"You think you can take care of me, Shuu?" Kaneki murmured. He only referred to Tsukiyama by his first name in private, which made it all the more special.  
  
"Of course, mon amor," Tsukiyama whispered in return. How foolish he had been. "I told you, I'll be the dagger under your pillow."  
  
And Kaneki would be the dagger lodged in Tsukiyama's heart.  
  
Tsukiyama licked a drop of blood off of Kaneki's lower lip as they kissed. The ghoul it had come from was likely a second-rate cut of meat, but the speck of crimson tasted ambrosial mixed in with Kaneki's lush flavor. They started out slow but purposeful, taking each other in with drawn-out kisses that Tsukiyama could savor. Kaneki began unbuttoning Tsukiyama's shirt while continuing to suck on his upper lip from a new angle, and suddenly Tsukiyama was hit with the image of the half-ghoul covered in blood.  
  
Their exchange of tongues got aggressive then. Breathing hard, Kaneki gyrated on the gourmet, who gripped the other boy's firm ass to pull him ever closer, closer, as close as they could be. Kaneki was leaving a trail of future hickeys along Tsukiyama's neck and clavicle when he stopped and said, "I'm covered in blood, aren't I?"  
  
" _Oui_ , but it's not a problem," Tsukiyama confirmed. "The opposite of a problem, actually."  
  
"Maybe not for you, but now that I'm aware of it, I need a shower," Kaneki muttered.  
  
"Understandable, but first..."  
  
"First what?"  
  
" _Fais-moi l'amour,_ " Tsukiyama intoned with a wink.  
  
Kaneki frowned. "What does that even mean?"  
  
"It means, make love to me."  
  
Kaneki chuckled, causing Tsukiyama to catch his breath. Kaneki's laugh was a rarity at that point; the knuckle-cracking was far more common. He ran his hands through the then-purple hair and said, "Shuu, I have a question. Do you actually speak French and Italian, or do you just have a few Google Translate phrases memorized?"  
  
" _Mon dieu_ , Kaneki," Tsukiyama laughed. "You sure are a gutsy one. Much tougher than the sweet black-haired boy I met all those months ago. Though of course my love for you has only grown since then--"  
  
"Don't you mention that," Kaneki hissed, nearly jumping out of Tsukiyama's laugh. "Don't you dare. I'm not that person anymore. That person was weak and now he's dead."  
  
Kaneki stormed out of the room, presumably to take his shower. Tsukiyama sat perfectly still for a moment, rendered immobile by the shock. What was he thinking? How could he be so tactless? He should've known by then that Kaneki was not just stronger than ever, but more sensitive than ever, as well. Tsukiyama of all people should know that. Just a few weeks ago, he had made the mistake of trying to whisper into Kaneki's ear while they were in bed together. Kaneki all but had a heart attack, and for a moment he looked as if he was poised to do some real damage. When he came back to his senses, he hurried back into his clothes, apologized without making eye contact, and spent the night curled up on the sofa.  
  
Tsukiyama thought that this would be another night of separation until he heard the faint voice of the other boy, calling for him. He thought it was his imagination until his beloved appeared in the doorway, mostly naked and still bloody.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said, gray gaze pointed towards the ground. "I'm so sorry. I don't want to be like this, Shuu."  
  
Shaking his head, Tsukiyama replied, "Don't you worry, _mon chéri_. I am the one who should be sorry. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?"  
  
"Get in the shower with me," said Kaneki. He disappeared through the doorway again, and Tsukiyama followed suit.  
  
Something about watching the blood wash off of Kaneki and disappear down the drain in a visceral swirl kept the image stamped into Shuu's mind in perfect clarity, as if it were happening in front of him with each recollection. The way the pink droplets traced the lithe, well-muscled body with Tsukiyama's fingers; the way the steam billowed around the half-ghoul, making him look like a beautiful wet specter; the way the air of danger hung onto Kaneki even when the evidence of his savagery washed away; the way he moaned and threw his head back as Tsukiyama pinned him against the clouded glass door and fucked Kaneki's anguish to the back of his mind, where it couldn't bother him...it all burned itself onto his brain, sharp and burning.  
  
During sex was the only time Kaneki was submissive in any way, Tsukiyama noticed. Kaneki was the de facto leader of the group; he always took the reins. Except when they were tangled up in each other, panting and groaning. As that realization dawned upon him, so, too, did Kaneki's spectacular beauty in that precious place in time, that place where their bodies were in rhythm. 

  
\---  


And that was how the master bathroom shower became tainted, and why Tsukiyama opted for baths after Kaneki's disappearance. He didn't want to leave his room, but if he stepped in that shower, Tsukiyama would find himself reminiscing on the blood rushing towards the drain, on Kaneki's perfect face half-obscured by the steam, on the high-definition clarity of that memory…and he would end up sobbing on the tile floor.  
  
Tsukiyama curses himself once more. There he goes again, wallowing in honeyed memories that only make him sick with sadness. He wishes he could inhale one last breath of Kaneki's fragrance, but even if he could, his sense of smell has faded. What's worth smelling anymore, anyway? Tsukiyama shook with laughter at his own melodrama. If he could, he would pound at the piano until he forgot his own emotions, but he rarely has the energy for that anymore. Maybe today Kanae would bring food, and Tsukiyama would have just enough motivation and stamina to play some Chopin. Piano was yet another dulcet comfort from the past.  
  
Tsukiyama Shuu wanted to stop Kaneki from leaving, but he couldn't. That is the price he paid for loving someone stronger than him. In the past, he thought he was too evil, too wonderfully, blissfully disgusting, to fall in love. But that one-eyed ghoul was stronger than he'd bargained for, and once wrapped around Kaneki’s little finger, all Tsukiyama could do was plead with him.  
  
He grabs a half-empty bottle of blood wine off of his nightstand, fills a glass. When he sees his own face reflected in the liquid, drawn and hollow and framed by lightened hair, he smashes it against the wall next to him. He is reminded of the blood and the shower, and he cries in spite of himself.


End file.
